Turn Into Something Beautiful
by dancinginthesunlight
Summary: In which Rose returns to Hogwarts after an unexplained leave of absence, Scorpius grapples with his family's past, and ultimately both must come to terms with who they are. Eventual Scorose.
1. time cannot erase

_These wounds won't seem to heal  
><em>_This pain is just too real  
><em>_There's just too much that time cannot erase  
><em>_-My Immortal, Evanescence_

* * *

><p>Rose Weasley can feel the whispers surround her even in the Muggle-occupied caverns of King's Cross Station. She wonders briefly whether she's imagining things, anxiety getting the better of her again, but when her mother takes a half-step forward, using her body to shield Rose from the crowd, the suspicions are confirmed.<p>

People are talking about her.

This in itself is nothing new; people have an interest in celebrity and like it or not, Rose's family is filled with celebrities. But though the whispers used to be a steady rhythm that set the pace for the soundtrack of her life, today they are accompanied by pointed fingers, arched brows, and hurried voices, as though the Weasleys are a spectacle to be looked at.

_Scandal_. The word enters Rose's consciousness swiftly, forcing her to remember the headlines of the tabloid magazines her mother had attempted to hide in the rubbish bin over the course of the past eight months. _War Heroes' Daughter's Mysterious Absence from Hogwarts – Find Out Why! _and _Rose Weasley in St. Mungo's!_ had greeted her in every Wizarding shop she had entered.

Some of the papers had gotten the facts nearly correct, others had concocted outrageous explanations that were so far-fetched they would have been laughable had they not been so damaging to "the family reputation," as her Dad liked to put it. Ron and Hermione Weasley held Ministry jobs which were frequently up for reelection and, though their heroism against Voldemort could get them far, any tarnish on their image could prevent future promotions.

Now that Rose had royally fucked things up, her parents had been working overtime and devoting their free time to charity work. She supposed it came from a place of love; the more Ron and Hermione were seen in public, the more attention they could garner from news sources in the hopes of replacing some of the more outlandish rumors about Rose's leave of absence.

It hurt all the same.

Hugo takes the wall of Platform 9 and ¾ at a run, and Rose prepares to follow after him.

"Wait," Hermione says, reaching into her purse and extracting something small. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I ate a big breakfast," she mutters. It's true, but she knows that Hermione will never believe her, not after everything that's happened.

"You should eat something," she repeats, handing Rose a protein bar, her tone insistent.

Rose can feel the stares of the people around her. Some are Muggles, but a larger portion her Hogwarts classmates and their families. Anxiety wells within the pit of her stomach as she realizes what her mother is doing.

Hermione gives her a forced smile. "Rose?"

And so Rose tears open the packet and scrapes her teeth over the edge of the bar. This isn't a part of the diet the nutritionist at St. Mungo's had prescribed. Logically, she knows that the extra calories are good for her, but there's a small but insistent part of her brain that calculates the effects of an extra granola bar on her figure, that pictures the needle of the scale ticking its way upwards.

No. She is in control of this. She will get through this; she will board the train while everyone watching sees that she can eat a protein bar just like anyone else. And then she can sneak off to the bathroom and force her hand down her throat or skip lunch or—

Or she can do none of those things, because her cousins will certainly alert her parents at the first sign of deviation from a normal diet and she'll be whisked away from Hogwarts again. Hogwarts, the one place where she has a chance to be _away_ from her parents.

"Rose?" Hermione asks again, gesturing toward the wall that will lead them to the platform.

* * *

><p>Scorpius Malfoy gives his mother a quick hug goodbye and nods curtly at his father. Draco is nearly always on edge when they are out in public like this, though over the years the rumor mill has lost much of its interest in the Malfoy family, or at least they have until they next neo-Death Eater group starts up and Draco is once again cast in the limelight, the public's suspicion of him plastered across <em>The Daily Prophet<em> as clearly as the Dark Mark on his forearm.

It's unseasonably warm for September, but Draco does not roll up his sleeves. He never does.

"Write to us, dear," his mother, Astoria, chides.

"Yes, Mum," he says, barely able to refrain from rolling his eyes at her. He owls home regularly and his mother knows it.

"I can't believe this is your last year at Hogwarts," Astoria continues, and this time Scorpius really does roll his eyes. "All grown up…" she mutters, and Scorpius thinks he might even see a hint of tears welling behind her eyes.

"Don't _cry_, Mum, I'll be back at Christmas," he protests.

Draco wraps an arm around Astoria in a rare moment of public affection.

"Right," Scorpius says, gathering his luggage. "Well, I'm off. I'll write as soon as I get a chance."

As he boards the train he receives a clap on the back from Noelle Shacklebolt. "Prefects meeting in 10, yeah?" she says, adjusting the Head Girl badge on her green and silver tie before rushing off somewhere.

Scorpius makes his way down to the Prefects' carriage, where he is greeted by a smattering of other students. The other seventh years are familiar, of course, and the sixth years as well. He recognizes six of the eight fifth year prefects and makes it a point to smile at those he does not, keeping his hands on his knees, nonthreatening.

The door slides open and he expects to see Noelle. Instead, a mass of copper hair he hasn't seen in ages fills his vision. The other Prefects, who had been conversing amicably, fall silent. Phoebe MacMillan, the seventh year Gryffindor who had been selected to fill in for Rose Weasley as Prefect last winter, shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

Rose remains silent as her eyes scan over the carriage, no doubt noticing Phoebe's presence and discovering that she has been replaced.

"I—" she starts, her voice soft, "Sorry. I didn't think…" Rose lets her voice trail off as she begins to make her exit.

"Rose, wait," Phoebe says half-heartedly, but it's too late.


	2. from across the room

_We never spoke a word  
><em>_But every thought I had she heard  
><em>_From across the room  
><em>_-As She's Walking Away, Zac Brown Band ft. Alan Jackson_

* * *

><p>There is an eerie sense to the hospital wing when it's empty. A pervasive quiet dissipates through the stone chambers. Rose finds herself shivering.<p>

"Your files have been sent over from St. Mungo's," Madam Pomfrey says by way of greeting, emerging from her office in the back corner.

"Er," Rose says, "Thanks."

"And _this_," Pomfrey continues, handing Rose several sheets of parchment, "Is what your nutritionist suggested as a diet, at least to start until we can see how you adjust."

Pomfrey's tone is no-nonsense, but her eyes hint of compassion beneath the tough exterior. Rose inexplicably feels like she's done something wrong—and in a way she has. In a way this is all her fault. She knows that she is not supposed to think like that, but some old habits are hard to break.

"Your mother mentioned that you'd been eating three meals and two snacks a day at home over the summer?"

She nods. "Yeah."

Madam Pomfrey continues, detailing how the house-elves have been informed to provide her with calorie-laden snacks twice daily and to report back should Rose miss a snack. Then there are the weekly weigh-ins and psychological counseling with one of the Healers from St. Mungo's via Floo.

Rose forces herself not to roll her eyes, to remember that meeting these conditions is _important_ if she wants to graduate at the end of the year.

It's going to be difficult.

* * *

><p>Every year, Scorpius finds himself startled by how small the first years have become, and this year is no exception. He watches as they are called up, one by one, to be sorted, clapping half-heartedly with the pronouncement of each house.<p>

Noelle kicks him under the table. "Where's your house pride?"

"Pardon?"

"That's the third kid who's been sorted into Slytherin and you're just sitting there" – she mimics his mechanical applause, rolling her eyes as she does so – "like it doesn't matter. You're a _Prefect_."

"I seem to recall that no one clapped for me when I was sorted and I turned out all right."

Noelle shoves him in the shoulder for that. "That's not funny. And I clapped for you."

"Yeah? Was this before or after you started crying about being put in Slytherin?"

"I was _eleven_," Noelle says, exasperated. "And for the record, you were crying too."

It's how they became friends in the first place. Noelle had been upset—niece of the Minister for Magic, placed in a house known for producing many of the Dark Wizards and Death Eaters who caused all the destruction her Uncle Kingsley had worked so hard to repair – when Scorpius had stumbled upon her in the Slytherin common room at three o'clock in the morning on their first night at Hogwarts.

"I was allergic to your pajamas. The ones with the pygmy puff decorations?"

"Once again, _I was_ _eleven_. And you weren't allergic, you were upset that people would think you and your father were the same person."

That had certainly been a part of it. Despite his mother's dark coloring, Scorpius had the misfortune of being born with his father's hair, eyes, and aristocratic nose. He's told he has his mother's smile, not that it does him much good. Passersby on the street recognize his face from the _Prophet_. Much as he tries to distance himself from Draco, the Malfoy line is infamous.

And no one claps when its youngest member is sorted into their house.

"Anyway," Noelle says, "What's up with you today? You seem… _off_."

"Just tired."

He can tell that Noelle doesn't believe that, but instead of commenting on it she points at something over his shoulder.

"What do you reckon happened there?" she asks, and Scorpius turns to see what she means.

She's staring at one of the side doors to the Great Hall, or, more precisely, the girl sliding through it slowly as though hoping she might be able to fade away into the thick stone column beside her.

Rose Weasley.

Accompanied by none other than Madam Pomfrey, who touches Rose gently on the arm before departing for the teachers' table at the front of the room. Rose looks for all the world like she wants to be anywhere except where she is right now, standing at the edge of a hall filled with hundreds of students who are turning one by one to look at her.

It could have been worse, Scorpius supposes. She could have entered through the main doors and had the entire student body's attention thrust upon her in one fell swoop. This way, at least, she might have time to reach the Gryffindor table before the Hufflepuffs notice her.

Scorpius watches as she presses herself against the wall and walks slowly, head down, to the Gryffindor table, taking a seat at the very end of the table next to a group of second years who look surprised to see a seventh year sitting with them.

"Well, she was _ill_, wasn't she?" That was the official statement Headmistress McGonagall had delivered to the Prefects last January, when Rose had left.

"That's what they _say_," Noelle shrugged, dragging out the last word. "But it was so hush-hush, you have to wonder."

Scorpius observes Rose. He'd never spent much time with her; he was fairly certain that last year's Head Boy, Rose's cousin Fred, had deliberately fixed the Prefects' schedule so that their rounds never overlapped. Even before that, he'd spent much of his time studiously avoiding the Potter/Weasley clan as best he could. They may have grown up by now, but Scorpius has several distinct memories of younger versions of Rose and her cousins taunting him mercilessly in his first few years at Hogwarts.

"Everything has to be '_hush-hush'_ around them," he tells Noelle, mocking her use of the word, "Her parents are famous."

"So is my uncle, but you don't see McGonagall making excuses for my behavior."

"You've never missed half a year of school," Scorpius responds.

"Still, aren't you the least bit curious? Maybe it was a curse. What if—"

He cuts her off. "She looks better than when she left, though. Less pale, like."

Noelle quirks an eyebrow, amused. "I don't think you have the right to comment on anybody else's _pallor_, Malfoy."

"Hey, I got tan over the summer."

She scoffs. "Hardly."

When the sorting is finally finished and the feast appears before them, Scorpius turns his attention to the lavish assortment of food that covers the table end to end.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Once upon a time in middle school, I wrote a multichap called _**Nothing's Fair In Love and War**_ about Rose and Scorpius that was, to put it nicely, kind of a hot mess of clichés and unfinished subplots and I think Scorpius was an animagus for no real reason._

_But since it's been a while since I've written a multichap about these two, and the one-shot I tried to write a few days ago turned into the beginning of a longer story, here goes._

_Review?_


	3. you found me

_Where were you, where were you  
><em>_Lost and insecure  
><em>_You found me, you found me  
><em>_-You Found Me, The Fray_

* * *

><p>Scorpius guides a gaggle of first year Slytherins to the common room. He glances over his shoulder occasionally as they look on in wide-eyed fascination at the gothic architecture and intricate portraits. Several students jump back as a suit of armor nods at them in greeting and Scorpius has to hold back a laugh.<p>

"Pay attention!" he calls as they reach the empty wall that hides the entrance to Slytherin Dungeon. "You'll need to remember the password to get into the common room. And remember that this password is for Slytherins _only_," he adds, turning to face the wall and say clearly, "_Novus Annus!"_

It was probably a stupid password, or at least one that any person with half a brain and a knowledge of Latin could figure out, but the responsibility for setting the passwords belongs to Professor Slughorn, who is not exactly renowned for his subtlety.

As the wall falls away to reveal the narrow green-lit passageway that opens up into the cavernous space beneath the Black Lake, Scorpius ushers first years past him, reminding them that breakfast begins tomorrow morning at seven o'clock, followed by their first classes at half eight.

One first year, a young boy with dark curly hair and eyes that pierced like daggers, looks up at Scorpius through his eyelashes. "Aren't you that Death Eater's kid?" the boy asks.

Scorpius takes a measured breath. "My name is Scorpius," he says, avoiding the question because there's no way to answer positively without lying. "What's yours?" he extends a hand to the boy.

Scorpius flashes back to his father giving him a lesson as a child, when another parent had pulled her daughter away from playing a game with Scorpius, muttering a few choice words about Death Eaters. Scorpius had shoved the girl.

"Don't ever do that again," Draco had said at the time, a warning in his voice. "There will be people out there expecting you to make the same mistakes I did. And so you're going to have to prove them wrong. You need to always be nice, Scorpius."  
>"But that isn't fair!" Scorpius had protested. "She was mean to me!"<p>

"The world doesn't have to be fair, Scor," Draco responded, looking forlorn. "But it is very important that you never give people a reason to think badly of you. If someone does something mean to you, you don't hurt them with your fists. You _kill them with kindness_."

Now, the boy looks at Scorpius's outstretched hand like he wants to murder it. "My name is Jay," he answers, with a voice like steel. "My mum warned me about you. The Death Eaters tried to murder her."

Scorpius digs his fingernails into his palm. "I'm so sorry," he says. _Kill them with kindness._ "Is she all right now?"

"Aside from the PTSD, do you mean?" Jay says, venom in his voice. Before Scorpius can respond, Jay pushes past him into the common room.

Scorpius sighs. Business as usual.

* * *

><p>A part of Rose wants to skip breakfast because she's fairly certain she might pass out on the way to the Great Hall from nerves alone, but the rational part of her brain knows that Madam Pomfrey will have a fit if she misses a meal on her first day back.<p>

So she forces herself to get dressed, to look in the mirror as she fixes her hair and paints on concealer and mascara, and to avoid the scale that one of her housemates – Maia Rinaldi, maybe – had placed in girls' bathroom.

In the Great Hall, she fixes herself a plate of toast and eggs and busies herself with the _Daily Prophet_, feigning interest in the rising price off Floo powder to disguise the fact that she is sitting alone.

She'd been social _before_, of course, or at least before things became really bad, but now that she is part of a scandal, most of her so-called friends are content to watch her from the sidelines and whisper to each other behind her back as though she doesn't know they're observing her.

It's hard to force food into her mouth when she knows that half of Hogwarts is staring at her, trying to guess what the hell is wrong with her, so she shuts her eyes and mentally repeats the phrases she's practiced every meal since St. Mungo's. _I'm putting food into my body. Food is nourishment. This is healthy. I will not feel guilty for being healthy._

She bites into a piece of toast, letting the light bread slide across her tongue before she chews and swallow. There. That wasn't so hard.

"Morning!" someone chirps so loudly beside her ear that Rose nearly chokes.

"Ow! Lily!" she complains, rubbing her ear.

Lily Potter reaches out a hand to snag a piece of toast from her cousin before pausing halfway through the process. She smiles sheepishly and withdraws her hand. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Rose says, wondering whether she means it. She looks around the table. Usually when Lily chooses to sit at the Gryffindor table, it's with a posse of girls her year. "Where're all your friends?"

"Off flirting with Al," Lily rolls her eyes. "It's kind of nauseating, really. 'Course, he's totally oblivious to the whole thing."

"I bet." Rose sobers quickly, "You don't have to sit with me, you know."

"I know I don't _have_ to," Lily says easily. "I want to."

* * *

><p>There are no fewer than five girls surrounding Albus Potter, all of them from other houses, taking up far too much room at the Slytherin table.<p>

Albus has always been popular; Noelle had mentioned once that he too had been apprehensive about being in Slytherin at first, if only because up to that point his family had all been in Gryffindor, but within days of arriving at Hogwarts their first year Albus had found himself surrounded by peers who wanted to be his friends.

Scorpius watches as Silas Bulstrode pushes his way between two of the girls – one Hufflepuff, one Gryffindor – to face Albus.

"Hey, mate, when are tryouts?" Silas asks, and Scorpius has the small satisfaction of seeing Albus Potter struggle not to roll his eyes. Silas can be defined as a self-centered suck-up, and that's putting it kindly. He's been trying to nab a spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team for ages, and now that Albus is team captain he seems to think he can sweet-talk his way onto the team despite his mediocre skill as a Beater.

"Cornfoot being a prat again?" Noelle asks, sliding onto the bench beside Scorpius and stealing two strips of bacon off his plate.

"Why, yes, Noelle, you can have some of my breakfast," he intones sarcastically. "Thanks so much for asking."

Noelle ignores the response. "What's your schedule look like?"

"Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy—"

"Potions first – did you drop Ancient Runes?" she asks, appalled. "You did, didn't you! I have to suffer through Professor Babbling all on my own?"

"You're the one who wants to be a historian, not me," he says, leaning over to look at her schedule. "We have Care of Magical Creatures together," he points out, "And Defense, and Transfiguration. Oh, and Charms— You dropped Muggle Studies?"

"Sorry," she says, looking sufficiently apologetic, "I know you didn't want to be alone in there but I wanted to take—"

Noelle stops suddenly as a grey eagle owl descends at the table, bearing a large rectangular package.

"It's for you," she says, pointing at his name – _Mr. Scorpius H. Malfoy_ – plastered across the accompanying envelope. It's written in a careful script, as though a great deal of thought went into crafting the letters.

He dislodges the package from the owl's legs, offering it some of his eggs. The owl spreads its wings again and is gone in moments. Scorpius wonders who sent him a package.

He breaks the seal on the envelope and slides out a single sheet of parchment.

_To my dear grandson…_

Bloody hell.

"Who's it from?" Noelle asks, spreading butter on her toast.

"My Aunt Daphne," he lies swiftly. He doesn't normally lie to his best friend like this, but he wants to think over the letter before getting her input. "I left a sweater behind at her house this summer."

He crosses his fingers and hopes that Noelle won't ask him to open the package in front of her. She doesn't, thank Merlin, busying herself instead with trying to _Accio_ hot sauce from the Ravenclaw table.

Scorpius turns back to the letter.

_To my dear grandson,_

_ Scorpius, I know that you and I have never met, and though I am not certain what your father has told you about me, I have thought of you ceaselessly since the moment I heard of your birth just a few months short of eighteen years ago. It is hard to imagine that you are an adult in your own right now, in your final year of school, no doubt a remarkable young man whom I would be proud to have as a grandson._

_ I don't pretend to be perfect. I have done things in my past that many would regard as unbefitting an upstanding family such as ours, and I certainly have not been in touch with you as I might have liked. But it seems that soon I will have the opportunity to meet you in person. Your father may not have mentioned it to you, but my term will be over shortly, and I should like to form a relationship with you, of the type we should have had all these years._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Lucius H. Malfoy_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Dun, dun, dun…_

_(Before you ask, I know that the Malfoys were pardoned for their involvement with the Death Eaters and were never sentenced to Azkaban. Lucius is in Azkaban for a different reason, to be revealed shortly – within the next few chapters)._

_Review? x_


	4. next to you sittin' next to me

_There ain't no place that I'd rather be  
><em>_Next to you sittin' next to me  
><em>_-Next to You, Next to Me; Rascal Flatts_

* * *

><p>It's Lily's fault, really, that Rose finds herself wandering into Potions just a few minutes before class is set to begin. She'd meant to leave the Great Hall at a quarter past eight, but Lily had held her back, asking for advice on O.W.L. level Defense.<p>

And now here she is, arriving at her first class when it's already nearly full, and she's caught standing there like a deer in headlights as she makes the realization that she has no idea where to sit.

She'd usually shared a desk with one of the other Gryffindor girls her year, but now as she takes in the room around her, she sees that they've already paired off. There should be an odd number of them, but Maia Rinaldi, who'd sat with her last year, has placed herself next to Al, leaning in intently as he says something that makes her laugh.

_Just bloody perfect_, Rose thinks sarcastically, since this now removes Al from the list of potential seat-mates. A list that is incredibly limited, because, she realizes upon further inspection, there are just three empty seats in the room.

One at the empty desk in the back of the room, one beside Phoebe MacMillan, and one beside Scorpius Malfoy.

She makes her way over to the empty desk; she's never talked with Scorpius much, only when necessary for Prefect duties – duties she no longer has – and she doesn't think she can bear to sit next to her _replacement_ for an entire term. She's always received top marks in Potions, anyway, and can manage the workload on her own.

But just as she's setting her books down on the desk, Slughorn enters the room.

"Ah, yes," he says, surveying the class. "You'll all need to be partnered up, of course. Miss Weasley?"

Rose holds back a sigh and thinks over her options: Malfoy or MacMillan? She can feel the class's eyes on her, nearly twenty N.E.W.T. level Gryffindors and Slytherins watching her.

Phoebe and Malfoy seem to have realized the conundrum as well. Phoebe looks up at her, gesturing at the empty seat next to her, probably thinking she's extending a bloody olive branch—

And Rose stalks off toward Malfoy's desk. She doesn't need Phoebe's pity.

"Right. Miss MacMillan, if you'd form a group of three with Mr. Potter and Miss Rinaldi…"

Maia doesn't look too thrilled about the idea, but Rose ignores this turn of events as she faces Malfoy and, with all her Gryffindor courage, whispers, "Sorry."

Vague surprise registers on his face, though she's not sure if it's in response to her apology or because she's sitting next to him in the first place.

"Pardon?" he asks.

_Sorry for sitting next to you when no one wants anything to do with me._ The words won't come. Instead, she finds herself saying, "I know you normally sit with your girlfriend."

"My _what_?" Malfoy sputters. Rose is surprised to have caught him off guard.

"Shacklebolt," she says, put off. "Sorry, I just always thought you two were—"

"Oh," he says, relaxing substantially, "Is that what people think? We're just friends."

His tone is surprisingly light, given the things she's heard about his family, and the things she's apparently just insinuated about his best friend. She of all people knows that children aren't always carbon copies of their parents, but she's always assumed he must hold some sort of grudge against her. After all, her parents and uncle were nearly single-handedly responsible for the public ire against his family.

"Sorry," she apologizes again, "I didn't realize—"

"Don't worry about it," he cuts her off. "Noelle's not continuing with Potions, anyway."

Slughorn chooses that moment to begin class, so instead of searching for a response Rose flips open her notebook begins to take notes.

* * *

><p>The letter from his grandfather burns a hole through his book bag – not literally, of course, although given what he knows of the man Scorpius does not dismiss the possibility that the envelope is cursed.<p>

Still, with Rose Weasley sitting beside him, diligently taking notes, he can hardly take out the letter to examine it. For all he knows, she'd owl her parents to have him brought in for questioning by the Ministry.

He'd been surprised, though, that she'd chosen to sit next to him. He hadn't been her first choice, of course, but when Slughorn left sitting at an empty desk out of the question…

She'd chosen to sit with him over Phoebe MacMillan.

Perhaps it's because MacMillan has been assigned to take over Weasley's Prefect duties. Their interaction on the train yesterday flashes into his mind, and Scorpius can't think of another reason for Rose to choose to sit next to him.

The fact that she assumed he and Noelle are _dating_ doesn't really bother him – it might bother Noelle: _Boys and girls can be friends,_ she'd say, affronted, _Honestly!_ – but it is not one of the things he would have expected her to mention in their first real conversation (if one could even call it a conversation). The fact that she's paid attention to who he sits with in class strikes him as odd. Although he supposes that they've had enough classes together by now that it wouldn't have been difficult for her to pick up on the fact that Noelle is his only friend.

Anyway, he's far more preoccupied with his grandfather's sudden desire to contact him than he is with Rose Weasley.

He still hasn't opened the package Lucius sent; he hasn't had a chance to return to his dormitory since breakfast. Whatever it is is sitting in his bookbag, wrapped in brown paper and hopefully not cursed.

"Shall we?" Slughorn says, snapping Scorpius out of his reverie. What had he been talking about?

Scorpius sneaks a glance at Weasley's notes. _Veritaserum_.

"I'll gather the first set of ingredients if you heat the cauldron," Rose offers.

She sounds unsure, so Scorpius nods. "Okay."

"And remember," Slughorn is saying, "Veritaserum is a Ministry-controlled substance, so I will be keeping all your samples under heavy protection spells as it brews and will happily assign a detention to any student I catch attempting to break them. Now, can anyone tell me how long it takes Veritaserum to brew?"

For a brief moment, nobody raises a hand; Scorpius follows Slughorn's expectant gaze to none other than Rose Weasley, who is standing with her arms full of bottles looking as though she would enjoy nothing more than to be able to camouflage with the wall behind her.

Rose, who normally answers every question – so much so that professors often ignore her raised hand in favor of other students – and more likely than not knows the answer to this one, is examining her feet. Her cheeks are tinged pink.

Scorpius doesn't know why he does it, but he slowly raises his hand. Slughorn is still watching Weasley, so Scorpius clears his throat and says, "Er, Professor?"

Slughorn turns to him. "Right. Er, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Twenty-eight days," Scorpius says. "One lunar cycle."

"Excellent," Slughorn says, the befuddled expression just beginning to slip off his face. "Five points to Slytherin. Now, can anyone tell me why it is so important that the cauldron be warmed to seventy-seven degrees precisely? Yes, Miss Jordan?"

Weasley returns to the desk then and busies herself with arranging the various ingredients in orderly rows. She doesn't look at Scorpius, but mutters a soft, "Thanks."

She seems tense and he has this ridiculous urge to squeeze her shoulder and tell her everything will be okay.

Instead, he asks, "For what?" like he hadn't just witnessed her freeze up as soon as the class's attention turned to her.

She finally looks up at him. Her eyes are a clear, startling blue, a trait he doesn't think he's noticed about her.

He's noticing now.

He tears his eyes away from her and turns his attention to the potion at hand.

* * *

><p>Slughorn calls out a five minute warning and Rose moves to begin cleaning up ingredients.<p>

"Er," she says, since they haven't really spoken to each other during class, only small remarks: _Pass the batwings?_ and _Be careful not to over-stir_. Scorpius has been the epitome of cordial, however, with none of the snarky comments her father had taught her to expect.

He's looking at her now, though—_because you made a sound and then didn't say anything, you idiot_—so she continues, "Are you finished with the nettle?"

The green leaves are lying scattered across the cutting board. Scorpius appears to register this fact and nods at her.

"Yeah, I'll help you put it back into the jar in a second," he says, aiming his wand at the cauldron. "_Wingardium leviosa_," he mutters, guiding the still-bubbling cauldron to the cabinet at back, where Slughorn is waiting to lock the doors.

Then he takes a sheet of parchment and folds it into a makeshift funnel, which he inserts into the narrow neck of the jar. "Grab the cutting board?" he asks.

Rose does, adding, "I never would have thought to do that." She thinks back to all the potion ingredients she's wasted over the years because it was too difficult to get them back into their bottles.

And she's supposed to be the smart one.

Finally, all the leaves are returned to the jar, and Rose moves to take it from Scorpius. But one – or maybe both – of them miscalculates and Scorpius dives to save the jar, knocking over his bag in the process and scattering his books and papers across the floor.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry!" Rose apologizes, bending down to help pick everything up.

Scorpius kneels beside her. "Don't worry about it," he says, shoving his books back into his bag.

All in all, there's not much to collect, so Rose dusts herself off and stands up, handing him two textbooks and an envelope.

"Thanks," he says.

She searches for something to say but draws a blank, so she gestures at the envelope and says, "You have a middle name?"

It's a completely stupid question, and not one for which she particularly cares about the answer, but the words _Scorpius H. Malfoy_ are glaring at her from the envelope at the top of the pile.

"Er," he says, "Yeah."

She wonders whether he thinks she's trying to flirt with him – someone more daring might use his middle name as a conversation opener – but before she can clarify that she isn't he inhales quickly in what must be surprise.

Rose watches Scorpius's face change as the realization of _something_ dawns on him. Then suddenly he grabs shoves the books and envelope into his bag and all but sprints out of the classroom, leaving Rose staring dumbfounded at the doorway.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Oh look, some actual interaction between the two main characters of this fic. Yay for progress.  
>(I'm back in school as of Monday so I'm going to do my best to update weekly from now on, probably on WednesdaysThursdays but if I get busy things might get pushed off to the weekends. I'd rather post chapters I'm proud of than rushed drabbles at 2 in the morning. So yeah.)_

_Reviews make me smile :)_


	5. stories across the sky

_Listen to Papa's translations  
><em>_Of the stories across the sky  
><em>_We drew our own constellations  
><em>_-Constellations, Jack Johnson_

* * *

><p>The Potions classroom is in the dungeons right by the Slytherin Common Room anyway, so Scorpius hurriedly mutters the password on the way to Herbology and rushes to the seventh year boys' dormitory.<p>

Once he ensures that he is alone, he pulls the (now slightly wrinkled) envelope from his bag and removes the letter.

He's going to be late to Herbology, but he needs to answer the question ringing in his head, ever since Rose Weasley made that comment. _You have a middle name?_ She'd asked, which he'd thought was a strange question since he'd been fairly certain that most people had middle names.

But then he'd realized something he had looked over the first time he'd read his grandfather's letter. He wanted to be sure, of course…

And so now, alone in his dormitory, he looks down at signature at the bottom of the sheet of parchment in his hand.

_Lucius H. Malfoy_

_ H?_

* * *

><p><em>"But <em>Daddy_," Scorpius whines. He can't be more than eight years old. "I don't _want_ to go to bed yet."_

_ "It's late," Draco says, "And your chocolate frog cards will still be here for you tomorrow. Let's go."_

_ He moves to pick Scorpius up (and carry him to bed, no doubt), but Scorpius makes one last attempt: "But I'm not tired yet! And it's summer so Miss Dhawan isn't even coming tomorrow!"_

_ He means the tutor his parents hire to teach him reading and basic arithmetic in advance of his more formal education at Hogwarts. He doesn't expect his father to relent because Draco is ordinarily, well, _Draconian_ about bedtime, but there must be something about the fresh July air drifting through the window because Draco's next words are, "Alright, just this once. Come, there's something I want to show you."_

_ And so Scorpius dutifully follows his father out the door, openmouthed, because never in his life has Draco ever let him stay up late._

_ Then he sits beside his father on the small hill behind Malfoy Manor, staring out over the moor. It's a comfortable silence._

_ "Do you see that?" Draco asks suddenly, pointing at something distant in the sky. "Those three stars in a row?"_

_ "Where?"_

_ Draco scoops Scorpius up and places him in his lap. Scorpius feels his father's chin resting against the top of his head. Then Draco takes Scorpius's wrist gently and guides it toward the horizon, until he's pointing at the middle of three stars, not quite in a straight line but not really in a bend either._

_ "That's the constellation we named you after," Draco says after a moment. "Scorpius."_

_ "I thought Scorpius was a scorpion," Scorpius says, trying to figure out what the kind-of-a-bend has to do with the poisonous creature._

_ "Those three stars are the pincers," Draco says, holding his arms out around Scorpius to demonstrate. "And if you look further down – see that bright red star there? That's Antares – and those stars make up the body of the scorpion. And below it, that curve is the stinger."_

_ "Where are your stars?"_

_ He can feel his father shake his head slightly and point almost directly overhead. _

"_You have to look carefully," he says. "But those dim stars up there that look almost like a winding snake? That's Draco. The Dragon."_

"_And what about Mummy?"_

"_Mummy wasn't named after a star," Draco says. "It's a tradition from my mother's side of the family."_

_There's a pause, and Draco moves slightly to face his son. "Scorpius, there's something that's happened today with your mother that you need to understand."_

_His tone is serious, so serious that Scorpius wonders whether _this_ is the real reason Draco brought him out here tonight. Scorpius looks up at him, waiting, unblinking. "Is Mummy okay?"_

"_Mummy is going to be fine," Draco assures him, but there's a wistful look on his face that Scorpius can't quite read. "She's staying with your Aunt Daphne for a few days. But you see— Do you remember last week, when we told you that Mummy was going to have a baby? A brother or sister for you?"_

_Scorpius nods. "Is my brother going to have stars?"_

"_Scorpius—" Draco pauses, looking out at the horizon. "Do you know what a miscarriage is?"_

"_A _what_?"_

_Draco sighs. "Sometimes, when a woman is pregnant, things don't go the way we want them to. Sometimes—" Draco pauses again, and this time when Scorpius looks up at him his father's eyes are glassy with tears. He's never seen his father cry before. "Sometimes we lose the baby."_

_Scorpius still doesn't completely understand, but his father has never looked so sad before. Before he can stop himself, he finds himself pointing up at a cluster of stars. "There," he says. "By that cloud. Those should be the baby's stars."_

_Draco follows his gaze. "Aquila," he notes, and Scorpius catches him rubbing his eye with his sleeve. After a moment, Draco says, "And that's not a cloud. It's the Milky Way."_

"_Like the candy bar?"_

"_What?"_

"_Oh—it's a Muggle chocolate. They sell them at the candy store in London outside the Leaky Cauldron."_

_Draco absorbs that. "The Milky Way is a galaxy. A big group with lots and lots of stars."_

"_Oh."_

"_And listen," Draco says. "Mummy might be upset for a little while. So we need to be extra nice to her, okay? And not say anything to her about—about the baby."_

"_Okay."_

_They sit silently for a while. Scorpius mulls over what his father's just told him. He'd been excited for a little brother (sure, Astoria kept reminding him that the baby could just as easily be a girl). Now he might never have a sibling._

_But what hurts worse is the look on his father's face—the look as though he's somehow failed in some substantial way—and so Scorpius sits up straighter and asks, "Where's Saturn?"_

"_Pardon?" Draco looks surprised by the non-sequitur, so Scorpius asks again. _

"_Saturn. Hyperion is one of the moons, isn't it?"_

"_Er, yes," Draco says. "Saturn should be…" – he searches the sky with his eyes – "Right there. How did you know that?"_

"_I looked it up in the dictionary," Scorpius shrugs._

"_But we didn't name you Hyperion after Saturn's moon," Draco says. "In the Malfoy family, most boys have their father's names as middle names. But I wanted you to be your own person. Not part of me." He pauses. "Hyperion was the title of a poem your Mum liked."_

* * *

><p><em>Most boys have their father's names as middle names<em>. Only, his father hadn't carried on that tradition, which is how Scorpius had ended up with a mouthful of a middle name.

Draco's middle name had been Lucius. And by that logic, Lucius's middle name _should_ have been Abraxas. Except his letter has it listed as _H_.

Scorpius checks the time. He needs to run if he's going to make it to Herbology on time, so he folds the letter and returns it to the envelope. He shoves it under his pillow; there's no need to be carrying it around all day, where someone might see it and accuse him of being a Death Eater.

But there's something strange about the misplaced initial in Lucius's signature. Something deliberate.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Oops. This wasn't supposed to be a sad chapter but then my headcanons got in the way._

_The stars in Aquila, the constellation Scorpius points out, are known in Chinese mythology from the love story of Qi Xi. In it, a man (the star Westerners call Altair) and his children are separated by a river (the Milky Way) from their wife/mother (the star we call Vega)._

_Milky Way bars _are_ sold in England, although as far as I can tell from Wikipedia they don't have caramel in them like the American kind, which sounds like a travesty for English people._

_The astronomy stuff in this chapter _should_ be accurate, though it's possible that England is too far North for Scorpius to be visible, even in the summer; I couldn't find a definitive source. Draco is circumpolar (it never sets in the Northern Hemisphere), so it definitely would be visible. I'm not sure where in the sky Saturn would have been in the summer, if at all, in (roughly, based on the "19 years later" timeline) 2014, so I kept it vague._

_Reviews make my world go around._


	6. these cards i've been dealt

_Perhaps it's just a rumour  
><em>_And if you asked her she'd say  
><em>_I'm just trying to work out  
><em>_How to be like myself  
><em>_I'm just trying to work out  
><em>_These cards I've been dealt  
><em>_-Rumour, Chloe Howl_

* * *

><p>For the first time in years, Rose tickles the pear on the portrait outside the Hogwarts kitchens and makes her way inside.<p>

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The house-elves don't notice her at first; they rush around with platters of food and tend to the pots on the stove.

"Um, hi," she says, her voice sounding timid even to her own ears.

Instantly, there are no fewer than three house-elves standing in front of her.

"Miss Weasley!" one of them says and she wonders how they recognize her. "We have your food right over here…"

She follows the house-elf numbly to a table in the corner where a plate has been set with apple slices and peanut butter. Her mother must have contacted McGonagall in some gesture of goodwill; when she'd been little Rose had eaten apples-and-peanut-butter like it was crack. _But I'm not a five-year-old anymore, Mum._

She sits down, preparing to get this over with so she can move on with her day. She already has a mountain of homework waiting for her, not to mention Astronomy class later tonight, and—

_Stop, Rose_, she commands herself mentally. Thinking like this – thinking that food is just another time-drainer in the way of accomplishing real things – is not healthy.

So she picks up an apple slice and bites into it.

* * *

><p>"There you are," Al says, catching Rose by the hand outside the library. "I've been looking for you everywhere."<p>

"Sorry," she says. "Kitchens."

"Oh." Pause. "Is that, like…?"

"Yeah."

Another awkward silence. "Erm," she says, trying to diffuse the tension, "Anyway. What did you need me for?"

"Right. Er, there's something I need to tell you. And it's…" he hesitates, stumbling for words, looking nervous for the first time in ages.

"Al?" Rose waits, completely unsure what she's even expecting him to say.

"Right, so, er—"

"Albus!" Al cringes at the same time Rose does. The high pitched squeal comes from Loretta McLaggen, a sixth year Hufflepuff who has an obsession complex with famous people, or, as the case may be, their children.

"Hey, Loretta," Al says. "I was just talking to Rose—"

"Oh, Rosie! I haven't seen you in _ages_! How are you?"

"Good," Rose responds, not bothering to meet Loretta's gaze. No one but her parents and grandparents are allowed to call her _Rosie_ without fear of being hit with a bat-bogey hex. Even Hugo had learned his lesson. Loretta must have missed the memo. "Al, you said you had something _private_ we needed to discuss?"

"Er, yeah," Al says, catching on. "Very private. Sorry, Loretta, I'll catch you later."

But when he tries to sidestep her and lead Rose off to a more secluded corner, Loretta blocks his path.

"So, the first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up…"

"Yeah," Al says. "In like a month. I'll talk to you later."

Loretta pouts. It's not a flattering look for her. But despite Al's obvious attempts to get her to go away, she is apparently well-versed in the art of _not leaving_, because she stands right beside Rose and Al and even has the gall to follow when Al tries to lead Rose away.

Bloody hell.

Al finally caves and gives Rose an apologetic look. "I'll catch you later." Then he turns to Loretta, "Was that a crumple-horned snorkack?"

He points vaguely over her shoulder. Rose stifles a laugh as Loretta spins around and Al takes the opportunity to make a run for it down the hallway. It's strange; she hasn't smiled like this in a long time.

* * *

><p>"It was weird," Rose says, "I have absolutely no idea what he was even trying to tell me in the first place."<p>

"Does anyone ever know what Al wants?" Lily asks. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder if we're even really related. He probably needed your advice sorting through the posse of girls trying to get with him. Anyway. I'd better get to Charms. I'll catch you later!"

Rose waves her off and begins to descend the murky staircase towards the dungeons, but a whisper in the distance makes her stop.

"Yeah, see over there? Those two gingers? Yeah, so the one with curly hair on the staircase—"

_Fuck._ The world echoes clearly through Rose's mind. _They're talking about me_. She feels panic rise up in her chest

"That's the one," the girl continues. She looks vaguely familiar, maybe a second or third year that Rose has seen in the halls before. "Rose _Weasley_."

"What about her?"

"Merlin, I forget you're a Muggleborn sometimes. Her parents, like, saved Britain from this Dark Wizard Voldemort a while ago. They're crazy famous now— they're big shots at the Ministry and everything. But anyway. She went on this leave of absence last year. I heard she went completely off the rails."

Rose swallows, but it feels detached, like she's having trouble processing.

"Oh!" squeaks the other girl. "That was _her_? I heard Amy Wu talking about that. She said she was, like, top of her class before she left."

"Yeah, well, she had to get good grades. I mean, her parents saved the whole school. I think there's a wing on the fifth floor named after them and everything."

"So, what, you think teachers just gave her good grades because of her parents?"

"Um, _yeah_," says the first girl. "It was all over _Witch Weekly_ last spring. She was super popular and got excellent marks and everything, because, you know, _her parents_. But then she went psycho and got all paranoid and started doing drugs and stuff. Then she got caught after she overdosed on something and barfed all over the Prefects' Bathroom."

"Oh my God," the second girl giggles. Rose feels nauseous.

Tears prick at her eyes, so she picks up her bag and storms off down the hall. She has never skipped a class before in her life, but then again there's a first time for everything.

* * *

><p>Scorpius waits until the last of the seventh year Slytherin boys has left the dormitory before reaching under his pillow to pull out Lucius's letter.<p>

_H_.

He aims his wand at the offending letter and whispers, "_Aparecium!_" to no avail. There's no hidden ink or basic concealing charms at play. Scorpius is mildly disappointed, but it's not like he expected Lucius to send a secret message that was so readily discoverable.

He wonders briefly whether this whole thing is pointless, whether the letter might be just what it says, an invitation to open up the lines of communication between them – lines Scorpius doesn't even really _want_ to be opened.

But why is there an _H_ in the middle of Lucius's name?

"Scor? Can you come help me with something?"

"One second!" he yells back at Noelle. Then he sighs and slings his bag over his shoulder, placing the envelope with Lucius's letter inside his pocket.

Noelle meets him in the Common Room. "Is this shirt too low-cut?"

Scorpius drags a hand across his eyes. "Seriously? I thought you needed help with the Transfiguration assignment or something."

"Nope," she grins. "But seriously. Can you see my bra if I lean forward in this shirt?"

"I'm not going to look down your shirt!"

"Oh, come off it. It's not a big deal."

He shoots her a look.

"Fine," she huffs. "You're no help. I'll go ask someone else."

"Sorry," he non-apologizes. She gives him the finger and makes her way back up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

Then Scorpius exits the Common Room. Thank Merlin the Potions classroom is so close to the Slytherin Common Room or he'd be late. He passes a group of second years talking—

"It was all over _Witch Weekly_ last spring. She was super popular and got excellent marks and everything, because, you know, _her parents_. But then she went psycho and got all paranoid and started doing drugs and stuff. Then she got caught after she overdosed on something and barfed all over the Prefects' Toilets."

"Ow!" Someone collides with his chest.

"Sorry!" he exclaims on instinct, hoping to Hell and back that whoever he's hit isn't the child of someone his family tortured.

It's worse.

Rose Weasley glances up at him. Tears rim her eyes, so different from the confident demeanor he'd come to expect from the Potter-Weasley clan.

"Shit," he swears. "I really am sorry."

But then the words he'd overheard from the second years register in his head and it clicks into place. _Bloody hell_.

"Erm, where are you going?"

"What's it to you?" she mutters, so softly he has to strain to hear it.

"Well, seeing as you're my Potions partner, and its time for class, I'd really rather not work on everything alone."

_Take the damn peace offering_, he pleads, _before someone assumes I murdered you in an alley_.

She shoots him a rather pathetic attempt at a glare.

_Kill them with kindness. _

He doesn't know what prompts him to do it, but he leans down so she's meeting him at eye level.

"Do you think if I let every stupid rumour someone spread about me get to my head, I'd still be here?"

She blinks at him. "But—"

"But what? Maybe you were doing drugs, maybe you were off competing in the Quidditch World Cup; I have no idea. But you can either go back in there and show them that you deserve the grades you get, or you can ditch and let them think you're off getting high in the loo."

She's momentarily speechless, but she consents to turning around and making her way down the hall towards the Potions Classroom with him.

"You probably think I'm pathetic," she mumbles.

"I know what it's like to have rumours spread about you like wildfire. And for people to hold you responsible for everything your parents have done."

"Yeah, but you never cracked and had to spend a term in St. Mungo's," she snaps. Then she seems to realize what she's said and covers her mouth with her hand.

Scorpius entertains the idea that perhaps Rose is so affected by the rumours because they are _true_, but she seems to read his mind because she says carefully, "It wasn't drugs. I'm not—I wouldn't—"

"You don't have to explain anything to me," he holds his hands up.

She looks like she's going to say something, but then she closes her mouth and nods. "Thanks."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Whoops. That got long fast. I wanted to get to the meaning behind the "H" in this chapter but it's going to have to wait for next week if I'm going to get this up on time. So, a little more waiting. Sorry! I do have a plan for how that'll all unfold, so bear with me for a while._

_Until next week! _

_Review?_


	7. the poem across

_And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding  
><em>_The poem across the tracks rebounding  
><em>_Shadowed by the exit light  
><em>_-A Poem on the Underground Wall, Simon and Garfunkel_

* * *

><p>"Do you want me to take over stirring?" Scorpius offers.<p>

Rose's arms ache from pulling the wooden spoon through the thick liquid over and over again, but she shakes her head. "I'm alright."

Scorpius accepts the answer and leaves her to it. Under ordinary circumstances she would be content to work in silence, but his words from earlier keep flitting through her mind: _I know what it's like to have rumours spread about you like wildfire. And for people to hold you responsible for everything your parents have done._

"Er," she starts before she has a chance to think about what she's saying. "Did people talk about you a lot growing up?"

He glances at her, looking mildly amused at her choice of conversation. "About as much as they talked about you, I reckon."

She lets out a breath. "It's not the same and you know it."

Scorpius shrugs. "Isn't it?"

"Come off it. You know what I mean."

He smirks at her. "I'm afraid I don't."

Rose glares. Well, if the bastard is going to make her say the words and sound like a stuck-up bitch in the process, she'll do it. "Some members of Wizarding society tend to have certain opinions about your family that they don't particularly hold against mine," she says carefully, watching his smirk deepen.

"Is that so?"

"You're not funny, Malfoy. I'm _trying_ not to be rude here."

"Really? Because I think _you're_ the one who just insulted my family."

She looks over at him. There's laughter in his eyes, enough to let Rose know that he's having her on and feigning the hurt expression.

"Well, I'm glad you find this amusing. It was plenty amusing for my Aunt Ginny when your grandfather slipped her a cursed diary that nearly killed her." She rolls her eyes and turns back to the cauldron.

"No—Rose, wait." He pauses, looking uncertain for the first time. "There aren't a lot of people I can joke around with like this. My family did some really shitty things. I know that, and so does everyone else, which is why I have to be obsessively nice to everyone I meet, or else they'll think I'm just waiting to join up with the neo-Death Eaters. But you get it," he pauses again, "Don't you?"

"Yeah," she says, "I know." Then she meets his eyes again and lowers her voice. "When I was in St. Mungo's, one of the tabloids ran an article saying that I was actually taken hostage by an angry Death Eater who wanted to avenge Voldemort."

"Was that Death Eater my father?" Scorpius asks, "Because I'll have you know that when I was seven several extremely reputable news sources reported that he became a monk and took a vow of silence to atone for his sins. I believe that we are also paying rent with money from illegal dragon trafficking in Ghana."

Rose bites back a laugh. There are so few people outside her family who understand what it's like to constantly be in the national spotlight.

"In fifth year they said I was dating you to upset my parents." The words escape her lips before she can stop them, which seems to be a fairy regular occurrence around Scorpius.

_Oh shit,_ she thinks, _Please don't let him think I meant that as an insult. And—oh God— don't let him think I meant it flirtatiously either, because I _don't_ fancy Scorpius Malfoy in the slightest._

_(You just happen to hold a rather high opinion of what he thinks_, her brain reminds her unhelpfully.)

Thank Merlin, he just rolls his eyes at her and mutters, "I'd forgotten about that one. My father nearly called a lawyer."

"What, I was that terrible of a dating prospect?"

He looks over at her and she tries to look properly affronted, but his expression softens. "He always gets mad when the tabloids write about me. Says that he should be the one to suffer the consequences of his actions and they shouldn't take cheap shots." Scorpius shrugs. "But he was probably also a little worried that your dad might try to castrate me in my sleep or something."

Rose catches herself staring open-mouthed at Scorpius, so she snaps her jaw shut before lowering her voice and muttering, "My parents just say to put up with the lies because 'any publicity is good publicity.'"

"Wow, they sound like a great bunch."

She exhales. "They are, and I love them, really, but…" she trails off.

"But sometimes your family can feel like a burden you have to bear," he says.

She meets his eyes—they're blue, she realizes with a start, but so pale they look nearly silver – and feels something warm spread through her. "Exactly."

* * *

><p>"What do you know about Rose Weasley?" Scorpius asks Noelle at lunch.<p>

She looks up, surprised. "The same thing everyone else does?" It comes out as a question. "Why?"

"We're partners for Potions," he says, trying to sound offhanded about it. "Since _someone_ ditched me for Ancient Runes."

"Don't even try to pretend that's my fault," Noelle says.

She follows his gaze across the room to the Gryffindor table, where Rose is sitting with her back to them, her nose buried in a textbook as she takes small bites from a sandwich.

"She's brilliant," Noelle offers. "I've heard she's in Gryffindor because she asked, but the hat was pulling for Ravenclaw. So your grades will be fine."

"Right."

"She was top of our year until the middle of last year," Noelle adds. "Then she got sick or whatever."

_Or whatever_. Not for the first time, Scorpius wonders what happened to Rose to get her put in St. Mungo's.

"She seems to be doing okay now," he notes, and Noelle nods.

"Yeah, I guess. Not that I've ever had a conversation with her," she adds. Then, after a moment's pause, "She's pretty."

"Pardon?"

"Oh, come off it. You're not blind. The girl got lucky in genetics department. She has the whole innocent girl-next-door thing going for her."

Scorpius rolls his eyes at Noelle, but (not for the first time) he notes the curls that fall loosely across Rose's shoulders, the way she touches her face when she's feeling self-conscious. _Get it together, Scorpius. You cannot fancy Rose Weasley._

Noelle must have picked up on his train of thought, because she studies his face with her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you asking me about her because you _like_ her?"

"What? No!"

"You'd better not," Noelle mutters. "Her cousins would murder you."

"I don't—"

"Methinks you doth protest too much," she sing-songs, and Scorpius resigns to rolling his eyes at her and muttering, "Wo-ow…" like Noelle's gone off the deep end.

And she _has_. (_Yeah, okay, Scorpius, three minutes ago you were admiring the back of Weasley's head. But you don't fancy her!_) He does not fancy Rose. She _may_ be vaguely attractive, in the same way that many girls are, but she's nothing particularly special.

(_She also spends her life dealing with all the rumors about her. She gets it._)

(_That doesn't mean anything_.)

"If it did happen between you two, though," Noelle says, stealing a handful of crisps off his plate, "It'd be rather poetic."

"_What_?"

"You know. Star-crossed lovers whose families hate each other—I think there's a Muggle play like that, actually—"

"No," he waves away her comment. "What did you just say?"

"Muggle play?"

"Before that."

"Oh. It'd be poetic. You know."

_Poetic_. He's not sure why his mind has chosen to hinge on that word in particular, except—_Oh_.

"_Hyperion was the title of a poem your Mum liked."_

"I just remembered I need something from the library," he lies, standing up a little too quickly.

"You know I'm only taking the mick, right?" Noelle says, sounding concerned.

"Yeah," he answers, bag already packed. "Don't worry about it. I'll catch you later, alright?"

"Er, okay," she says. She looks slightly confused, but then she shakes her head and slides the rest of his crisps onto her plate.

* * *

><p><em>Scorpius is eleven, about to depart for his first year at Hogwarts, and he has never been more terrified in his life.<em>

"_Don't point that at anyone!"_

_ Scorpius looks down at his hand, where he holds the brand-new wand he has just brandished at his parents. "Sorry."_

_ "You don't need to apologize," Draco says, his tone softening. "But you can't point your wand at people. They'll—" he stops, runs a hand through his (thinning) hair, and continues, "You don't want anyone to misconstrue the situation and think you were aiming a wand to hurt someone."_

_ "I bet no one else's parents tell them not to carry a wand out," Scorpius grumbles, but he keeps his voice low enough that his parents can't hear the gripe over the buzzing crowd of Platform 9 and ¾. He knows comments like this are likely to lead to scolding._

_ No one says anything for a beat. Then Astoria steps forward, extending a wrapped package toward Scorpius. "We have a gift for you," she says. "For starting Hogwarts."_

_ Before she can launch into a speech about how her little boy is "all grown up," Scorpius takes the package and carefully pries open the brown paper._

_ "It's a book." And a thick one at that, backed in glossy leather with shiny gold letters. "'Keats?'" he reads off the cover, the word forming a question in his mouth._

_ "John Keats was a famous poet," Astoria says. "He was so famous that even most Muggles have heard of his work. We gave you your middle name after one of the poems. _Hyperion_."_

_ "Er," he says, "Thanks."_

_ Later, when Astoria has gone to say hello to an old school friend, Draco pulls Scorpius aside. _

"_There's five galleons taped to the inside front cover," he whispers. "Buy yourself some sweets off the trolley for me, yeah?"_

_ "Thanks—" Scorpius replies, but the rest of his answer is cut off as his mother returns and gives his father one of those _meaningful_ looks, the ones Scorpius isn't supposed to be able to interpret._

_ Then his father raises a hand to wave at someone across the station—Scorpius can't really make out who… oh, wait, it's that dark-haired man standing with a cluster of children and a few other adults, their hair in varying shades of red and brown. _

_ "Dad? Who are you waving at?"_

_ Draco gives an almost imperceptible sigh. "Harry."_

_ "_That's_ Harry Potter?" Scorpius asks, astonished. From all the stories he'd been told, he'd imagined someone more… imposing._

_ "Yes," says Draco shortly. "And remember, no matter what his children say or do to you at school, you _do not_ give them any reason to think poorly of you. Understand?"_

_ "Kill them with kindness," Scorpius mutters._

_ Draco stoops down to meet him at eye level. "I love you, son, okay? Whatever happens."_

_ Scorpius feels knots tie in his stomach._

_ "And read the poem. It's hopeful."_

_ "It's a _poem_," Scorpius says, rolling his eyes even though he knows his father hates when he does so. "It's for, like, old people."_

_ "Ouch," Draco says, smile lines making creases by his eyes. "It's about the fall of the Titans and their anger, and how Hyperion remained strong and powerful even through the transition of power to the new Olympian gods—"_

_ "It sounds _boring_," Scorpius says._

_ Draco gives him a _look_. "Send your mother an owl in a few days saying that you read it."_

_ "Fine. I love you, Dad."_

* * *

><p>The Hogwarts library is nearly empty this early in the term, so Scorpius makes his way over to the poetry section and begins scanning.<p>

"Can I help you with anything?" asks Madam Pince, the nearly ancient librarian.

"Er, yeah," Scorpius replies. "Do you have anything by Keats?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you all for the kind reviews! You are lovely people, so have another long chapter a few hours early as a small token of my appreciation._

_Okay so technically Keats wasn't actually a Wizard, but I like the idea of some parts of Wizarding culture blending over into the Muggle world._

_(Full disclosure: _Hyperion_ is actually a pretty boring poem, and Keats even abandoned it halfway through writing it. But it is a pretty fitting metaphor for Scorpius's situation, so I'll use it. Review or PM me if you want the whole heavy-handed analysis)._

_As always, reviews are much appreciated._


	8. meant for burning

'_Cause tables are meant for turning  
><em>_And people are bound to change  
><em>_And bridges are meant for burning  
><em>_When the people and memories they join aren't the same.  
><em>_-"Lover's Cross," Jim Croce_

* * *

><p>It takes him three hours. During that time, Scorpius tries everything from revealing charms to searching the poem for words from the letter, to no avail. Until finally, after <em>three excruciating hours<em>, it dawns on him to try _reading the poem_.

There is a reason he was not sorted into Ravenclaw, and this, apparently, is it.

In his defense, he would have assumed that Lucius would have encrypted his message with a fair deal of complicated, flashy magic, if only to further distinguish himself from base Muggles.

And yet, the second he begins to read the first lines aloud, the letter in his hands glows bright.

_Deep in the shady sadness of a vale…_

As he makes his way through the verses (and _Merlin_ it's a long poem; he knew there was a reason he'd never read the whole thing), checking over his shoulder every so often to ensure that no one had entered the Prefects' Bathroom – not that he expects anyone to, given that it's midday – the words and letters reassemble themselves on the parchment, new ones forming and old ones disappearing with each passing line, until finally the final line:

_Apollo shrieked – and lo! from all his limbs  
><em>_Celestial_

With the final word, Scorpius looks at the paper again and nearly drops it as he recognizes coherent words in his grandfather's careful script. A date and a time, and below it:

_Room of Requirement. __Come alone._

Scorpius shakes his head to clear it. He is _not_ going to be dumb enough to go _alone_ to an isolated part of the castle where others will be unable to find his body if Lucius tries to kill him.

Okay, so the reasonable part of his mind knows that Lucius would never actually kill him; doing so would wipe out the entire Malfoy line. The idea of extinguishing what was once an esteemed pureblood lineage out of spite or vengeance or whatever the hell Lucius was trying to contact him for would probably be enough to put the old man off of murdering his own grandson.

Still, his father has never allowed him to speak with Lucius, and for good reason. Lucius is, after all, if not the entirety, then a very large part of the reason that the once great Malfoy name is now shrouded in infamy.

With a sigh, Scorpius points his wand at the letter and mutters "_Incendio!_"

Then he watches with a strange sense of satisfaction as the parchment is engulfed in flames.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm so sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I got an infection over the weekend and spent a lot of time sleeping off the fever and popping antibiotics, so, unfortunately, a short chapter is all I had time for. Hopefully, next week's chapter will be longer. Again, I'm so sorry! You can blame my immune system for being bad at its job, but I wanted to get _something_ up on time (it's still Wednesday in my time zone!)._


	9. the best fall down

_Even the best fall down sometimes  
><em>_Even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
><em>_Out of the doubt that fills my mind  
><em>_I somehow find  
><em>_You and I collide  
><em>_-"Collide," Howie Day_

* * *

><p>"Will you relax? The Healers said I'm allowed to exercise as long as it's not too excessive."<p>

Lily exhales. "All right. But if you're not back in an hour I'm coming to find you. Oh, hey Albus."

"Why's Rose going to be gone for an hour?"

"Hot date," Rose says, at the same time as Lily corrects, "She wants to go for a run."

"Ah," Al says. "Saw the _Prophet_'s gossip column, huh?"  
>Rose glares at him.<p>

"Lighten up," he says. "There's something absurd about me in there every few weeks anyhow. I think last time they said I was releasing a new song with that singer, what's her name—?"

"Yeah," Rose says. "Because when they write about _you_, it's always something good. I'm the resident _cracked-under-pressure-diva_."

"Well," Al says. "I'm sorry—" he catches sight of something – or, more likely, someone – over her shoulder and winces. "Ergh. I'm really sorry, Rose, but I need to go. Silas Cornfoot keeps riding me about tryout results and I need to find someone else good enough to replace him before I can give him bad news."

"Bye," Lily smirks, waving her fingers at Albus. "And anyway, you can tell Cornfoot maybe he doesn't want to be on the team anyway. Hufflepuff is going to _destroy_ you in October."

"Yeah, yeah," Al rolls his eyes at her. Then he turns to Rose. "Can we talk later though? I still have something I need to tell you."

"Er, sure," Rose says, slightly thrown by the non-sequitur. She wonders whether this is the only reason Al came to find her and Lily in the first place; it's the second time he's asked to speak with her in the past few days and – remarkably – both times he's managed to approach her without his usual crowd of female admirers.

"Thanks. See you!"

Then he takes off towards the fourth floor corridor.

* * *

><p><em>Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.<em>

Rose lets her feet slam into the ground, letting the cool late-summer air lift her hair off her back as her legs carry her across the Hogwarts grounds. She doesn't have a set destination in mind – she's definitely nowhere near as in shape as she was back before… _everything_. Her usual five kilometer warm-up – traveling the entire perimeter of the grounds twice, skirting the edge of the Forbidden Forest and looping around the lake – will no doubt be too difficult.

Or at least, it _used _to be her usual warm-up. Her mother had all but forbidden her to exercise over the summer, as if _that_ had been the cause of all of her problems.

* * *

><p>On her way past the greenhouses, she hears a voice calling her name.<p>

Rose spins around.

"Rose," Professor Longbottom (he was _Professor_ at school, _Neville_ when her parents were around) says, his breathing a touch heavy from chasing after her for a few dozen meters.

"Er. Hi," she says weakly. If this is about her Herbology quiz, she already knows that she got number seven wrong—

"Listen," he says. "Your parents spoke with me about your condition this summer, and I wanted to—"

"I'm actually a bit busy at the moment," Rose says, turning to continue her run. She has no desire to finish this conversation.

"I wanted to _apologize_," Neville continues.

Rose stills. She had expected Professor Longbottom to offer to help, to comment on how much _better_ she looks, to offer her unsolicited lifestyle advice – the things everyone else who knew offered. But apologies are new.

"You were in my class three days a week last year, and I didn't notice the signs. And I am profoundly sorry for that."

She bites back the words she wants to say – _I told my parents not to bloody _tell_ anyone_ – and forces a smile. "It's not your fault."

After all, isn't that what everyone wants to hear? That they are not to blame?

She's being unfair to Neville and she knows it. Herbology class in general and Professor Longbottom in particular really weren't a part of it at all, unless her continuously falling grades throughout the fall of Sixth Year counted as a warning sign he should have (somehow) miraculously picked up on.

"Er, thanks," Neville replies. He shifts awkwardly, looking like he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. "And, er, Rose… I read the _Prophet _today. You shouldn't—"

"It's fine," Rose says shortly. "It's just gossip, right?"

Then she fakes a smile and takes off again without saying goodbye, using the force of her feet against the ground to propel her away from him quickly enough that he can't follow.

She doesn't look back, but she imagines he looks a little forlorn.

She would.

* * *

><p>Scorpius searches the Quidditch Pitch for a glint of gold. He isn't technically supposed to be using an actual snitch for practice, since there is the possibility that he might not be able to catch it, but between the cloudy, might-rain-might-not weather and the first signs of autumn chill in the air, most of Hogwarts's student body has elected to remain indoors.<p>

It's just as well. He hasn't been on a broom in ages, not since his father pulled his back out trying to de-gnome the garden in July, and it feels good to let the wind in his face clear his head.

Suddenly, he sees the light reflecting off a spot near the grass twenty meters below. He presses his torso against the broom-handle and pulls into a sharp dive. In seconds, he is close enough to touch the snitch if he reaches out with his hand—

—and pulls up on his broom to keep from crashing headfirst into the grass.

His fingers close around the snitch of their own accord and he raises his hands in mock celebration, flying with his feet dangling just inches above the ground, closing his eyes to imagine how this would feel if he were ever to win a game for his house, to have people feel proud of him for once…

"Ow!"

Scorpius opens his eyes with a start, barely registering the situation at hand before he pulls the broom to a quick stop and dismounts, abandoning the broomstick in favor of helping the girl he's just hit.

Rose Weasley. What the hell is with that girl?

A decent number of swear words come to mind, but he suppresses them and says instead, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

She musters up the strength to glare at him from her position on the ground. "Yeah. I'm fine."

But she says it with a grimace, and he notices that when she tries to push herself to a stand her ankle buckles beneath her and she clutches at her hip as if in pain.

"You're hurt," he says, and she shoots him another glare, although he thinks this one is more for stating the obvious than for knocking her over. At least, he hopes it is.

"I'm fine," she says again, more firmly this time, but she stumbles when she tries to walk.

Scorpius exhales. "Come on. I'll take you to the hospital wing."

"I don't need to go to the hospital wing. I'm fine."

"Rose—"

She starts at the sound of her name, and he wonders whether it's something about the way he says it that causes a reaction.

"_I'm fine!_" she snaps, so harshly that now it's Scorpius's turn to flinch. "Sorry," she continues. "I just… I've spent enough time with in the hospital and I don't…" her voice trails off.

Scorpius watches Rose flatten her palms against her thighs.

"Okay, but you should at least sit for a few minutes. Take a breather."

Rose nods slowly. "Okay."

She hobbles slowly toward the stands, since they are the only place to sit that doesn't involve the muddy Quidditch pitch (although at this point Rose has accumulated enough mud on her clothes that sitting in it probably wouldn't make much difference). It's a painstakingly slow process. Rose inhales sharply with each step.

"Come on," Scorpius says. "Lean on me."

"No, it's—"

"Rose, you can barely walk."

She glares at him, but cautiously wraps her arm around his back – their height difference makes his shoulders too high for her – and then he feels the gentle pressure of her weight against him, the solidness of her body making his heartbeat take off on unfamiliar harmonies.

But Rose is still wincing with each step; after a few paces even she acknowledges the pain, saying, "I'm sorry. This isn't getting anywhere."

He carefully disentangles himself from her arm, and before he can talk himself out of it, extends a hand to her. "I'll carry you."

"You'll _what_?"

"You said it yourself. This isn't getting anywhere. It's just from here to the risers. It'll be fine."

Rose looks uncertain, but with a few more paces and grunts of pain she nods slowly.

So Scorpius scoops her up in his arms and carries her over to the stands. He ignores the way her hair spills over his arm, the way she fits so perfectly against his chest— _Merlin, Scorpius, get a grip. It's just Rose Weasley._

"I'm really sorry," she says as he sets her down. "I mean, really, really—"

"Rose, it's fine. You weigh like two kilos. Don't worry about—"

She stiffens beside him.

"Rose?"

She avoids eye contact with him, and at first he wonders whether he's somehow offended her in some way. She's staring off into the distance, a practiced expression he is all too familiar with. She's trying not to cry.

He thinks over what he's said, trying to figure out what it is that set her off.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Happy Wednesday! Thank you all for all the wonderful reviews! x_


	10. come on skinny love

_A/N: This chapter comes with a trigger warning re: Rose's history. If you feel that you might be triggered, please read only the non-italicized portions of the chapter._

* * *

><p><em>Come on skinny love just last the year<br>__Pour a little salt, we were never here  
><em>_Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer.  
><em>_-Skinny Love, Bon Iver_

* * *

><p>"I didn't know you played Quidditch."<p>

Scorpius can tell that she's trying to divert attention away from herself, but he feels like he's stumbling blindly through this conversation, so he takes the bait. "Not really. Just playing around with my Dad sometimes."

"You should try out for Slytherin," she says. Her voice shakes a little, but she clears her throat and continues, "What position do you play?"

He is silent for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully, but Rose is looking at him imploringly and he finds himself blurting abashedly, "Seeker."

"_Oh_." The word falls heavily.

_Oh_, because Albus Potter plays Seeker. _Oh,_ because Scorpius has never played on the team, never even tried out.

_Oh_, because if not for his surname, he might have.

"It's just for fun," Scorpius continues, but the words come out awkwardly, so he finds himself rambling on, "I mean, I don't need to play for the Cup or anything—"

"Are you any good at Beater?" Rose interrupts suddenly.

"Pardon?"

Rose's eyes are downcast as she says nonchalantly, "Al needs someone to play Beater for Slytherin, Silas Cornfoot is a prat, but he's the only one who tried out, so… I mean…" her voice trails off.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," he says.

"Why not? You obviously like the sport."

He doesn't say anything.

Rose raises her eyes to meet his. "You're worried about what people with think with Al as captain."

"I just don't think anyone would want me on the team any more than they'd want Silas Cornfoot."

"Or you're just worried that if you tried out people might realize you're better than Al."

"_What_?"

Rose lets out a breath. "You just made a dive from thirty meters up to ground level in about two seconds, and pulled out of it without smashing head-first into the ground. That's Wronski Feint level impressive," she pauses, "And Al can't do a Wronski Feint."

He doesn't say anything, so they sit in silence for a minute. When he sneaks a glance at her, Rose is staring at her hands.

"I think I can walk now," she says after a moment, pushing herself slowly to a stand.

Rose still has to lean against Scorpius to walk back to the castle, and she'd be lying if she said that her ankle didn't still hurt like a bitch, but she isn't about to let Scorpius know. Hell, he'd probably pick her up again and carry her to Gryffindor Tower himself.

She still doesn't quite understand why he's being so nice to her. Sure, he knows what it's like to feel isolated, but she's pretty sure she'd said her fair share of disparaging comments about him in the past, and he has to remember it.

"I think I can make it from—"

A snicker in the background cuts her off. "What the hell is Rose Weasley doing with _him_?"

Shit. She turns to apologize to Scorpius, to let him know that she's sorry he has to put up with this all the time—after all, he's been nothing but nice to her—

"Maybe he has a weird fetish for girls who can touch their tonsils."

_I'm sorry. _The words die in Rose's throat, because _they know_. Whoever these random girls are, they know, just like everyone else, because of that damn _Prophet _article. She registers that Scorpius is still standing beside her, and his lips are forming words, but she can't register them, can't hear anything except a faint ringing in her ears…

* * *

><p><em>The scale in the Sixth Year Gryffindor girls' bathroom informs her that she hasn't lost any weight since starting her diet two weeks ago. And she has to fit into her bridesmaid dress for Victoire's and Teddy's wedding over the Christmas holidays, so she <em>can't_ possibly weigh as much as the scale is telling her._

_ It's her thighs. They look monstrous under her uniform skirt, two sagging, cellulite-ridden masses. Maia Rinaldi's legs don't look like this; she's so tiny, her legs probably don't even brush against each other as she walks. Rose pushes the thought from her mind._

* * *

><p><em> She's stopped eating breakfast. She can function just fine without it, and some days she can even manage with just an apple or granola bar at lunch. And she's lost two pounds already. It's not huge, but it's a start.<em>

* * *

><p><em> Witch Weekly spreads the rumor that she is secretly pregnant. Rose skips lunch to hide in the library. She'd rather deal with her hunger than listen to everyone gossip about her.<em>

* * *

><p><em> On a Wednesday in October, she passes out in the hallway. Dehydration, Madam Pomfrey tells her in the hospital wing. Her blood sugar was rather low; she should probably eat something.<em>

_ Her mother writes to inform her that the family will be attending some Ministry Function over Halloween so please do something_ _about your hair, Rose._

* * *

><p><em> The months pass, and she's lost the five kilos she'd intended to. But looking at food makes her feel equal parts nauseous and proud. Yes, she's hungry – starving, really – but it doesn't matter. She has the self-control to change the parts of herself she doesn't like. Some of them, anyway. <em>

_ And besides, there's no reason to stop now. Her waist protrudes outwards and her face has always looked a bit fat and she practically has a double chin and Merlin she just needs to keep going._

* * *

><p><em> She struggles to stay awake in Transfiguration. She doesn't know why she's been so tired recently. She went to bed early last night, too.<em>

_ Focus, Rose. You need an O on this exam or Mum will kill you._

* * *

><p><em> The Potions classroom is freezing. Rose shivers; Maia shoots her a cautious look. "Are you okay?"<em>

_ "Fine," Rose whispers, shaking again involuntarily._

* * *

><p><em> Rose looks at the magically altered image of herself on the cover of Witch Weekly. She has Barbie Doll proportions that don't reflect her body in real life – she's lost weight, sure, but not in her thighs, which is why she needs to keep going with her diet. In the mirror, her thighs are enormous. On this magazine, they're perfectly toned.<em>

_ That's it. She's not going to be as thin as the not-real image of herself._

_ She's going to be thinner._

* * *

><p><em> She manages to skip breakfast, lunch, and dinner one day in November. She rewards herself with dinner in her room. Her food for the day – a few sticks of celery –<em> _tastes __incredible, and she relishes the taste on her tongue. It's over before she's ready for it to be, but this is all she has allowed herself for today. Besides, it's a sign of her dedication that she can stop now without reaching for more food. _

_ The logical part of her brain tells her this isn't healthy, but her more pressing concern is keeping the weight off, or Witch Weekly will be reporting on her sudden weight gain. And she doesn't want everyone to think she's fat._

* * *

><p><em> "Oh, come on," Al says. "It's Hogsmeade! It'll be fun!"<em>

_ But Rose pictures Al passing her a pint of Butterbeer and her stomach turns. "No, thanks," she says. "I have homework."_

_ She spends a quarter of an hour running up and down the stairs, until she's dizzy with exhaustion and has to sit down for a few minutes before she can walk back to Gryffindor Tower._

_ She eats salt and ice cubes for lunch. When Al and the rest return, she lies that she had a sandwich. Nobody questions it._

* * *

><p><em> Her hair is falling out. It collects in clumps between the bristles of her hairbrush. She has to sit down in the shower one day – the hot water makes her dizzy now – and catches herself crying over the strands that collect around her fingers as she runs them through her hair.<em>

* * *

><p><em> She spends Christmas wearing her bulkiest sweaters, because her Mum might catch on to what she's been doing and Grandma Weasley is always complaining about her being too thin.<em>

_ At Hogwarts, skipping meals is as easy as pretending to have homework and hiding out in the library. She usually naps, anyway; she's chronically exhausted and the castle has been absolutely frigid recently._

_ But at the Burrow, with everyone staring at her – everyone, since it's Victoire and Teddy's wedding and there are two whole families there – she can't escape. She can't even control her portion size because Grandma Weasley is always piling on seconds and thirds and the amount of food that is amassed on her plate is enormous._

_ She wishes she were seventeen already so she could magic the food off her plate before anyone notices, but she won't be until spring and the anxiety building up in her over this fucking meatloaf makes her heart race and she feels lightheaded and and and…_

_ And everyone is fucking staring at her, so she forces a few bites into her mouth and chews and swallows and she still feels lightheaded and that's more food than she's eaten in a single meal in months and she can practically feel it in her thighs and stomach and cheeks already oh fuck oh fuck what has she done…_

_ The answer occurs to her as if she's known it all along. So she asks to be excused, climbs the stairs to the furthest bathroom from the kitchen table, and kneels in front of the toilet._

_ She's not sure how to do this. She doesn't even want to do this – this isn't just a diet, this isn't just trying to lose weight, this is what those skinny bitches in Muggle movies do, and she isn't shallow like that, she isn't obsessed with herself, except she is, she is – and then somehow she manages to dig a finger into her throat._

_ She misses the first two times and gags and nearly retches but not quite. Then on the third try (third time's the charm, eh Rose?) she manages it and empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet._

* * *

><p><em> Victoire and Teddy say their vows while she brushes her teeth.<em>

* * *

><p><em> She loses it completely on the last night before returning to school after the New Year. <em>

_ She doesn't quite know how it happens, but somehow she's made her way to the pantry and then she's having a snack – one cracker is fine. One cracker won't kill you, Rose – and then it's like she's lost control, like her actions are automatic, and she's just _eating_, eating to replace all those meals she's skipped, eating to undo all her work, eating…_

_ She has easily just consumed over six-hundred calories in just a few minutes. The thought terrifies her, and she feels nauseous just thinking about it. She was in control just a few weeks ago, but this fucking Christmas and her fucking family have ruined it – no, she's ruined it. This is her fault. She worked so hard at something and now it's gone in an instant because she couldn't fucking stay in control of her body._

_ Merlin, she's pathetic._

_ She needs to do something. Something, so that a few minutes' lapse in judgment doesn't destroy her life forever, doesn't tear down all the hard work she's put into keeping the numbers on the scale slowly decreasing…_

_ And so she shoves a toothbrush down her throat and expels six-hundred calories from her body._

* * *

><p><em> By February, she's been bingeing and purging nearly every day. She hates herself for it, but forcing herself to vomit allows her to hate herself just a little bit less.<em>

_ Her cheeks are getting puffy, and she's not sure why, but it makes her feel fat so she tries to skip meals, but then sometimes she just loses it and eats and eats._

_ And the only way to calm the raging anxiety she feels after she eats is to eliminate the calories. The skin across her knuckles is getting raw from reaching into her throat so often, but she's not always near her toothbrush._

* * *

><p><em> And then one day in the Prefects' Bathroom something goes wrong; she pushes to hard, or she doesn't have enough substance in her stomach, or or or…<em>

_She'll never really know what did it, but somehow she collapses and the only thing she remembers between falling and waking up in the hospital wing is the feeling of lying with her head against the cold marble floor, the stench of her own vomit and sweat rising into the air as she wonders what's happened to her to bring her to this point._

* * *

><p>"Shhh, shhhh. It's okay. I'm right here. You're okay. It's okay." Scorpius doesn't know what he's saying, but some part of him must hope that if he repeats the words over and over again enough, they'll be true.<p>

Rose is sobbing quietly, head buried in her knees, and he finds himself rubbing circles into her back.

"It's okay."

"No," Rose whispers, so quietly he might have missed it if he wasn't sitting so close to her. "It's not."

"It's just a rumor."

She lifts her head slightly. "No, it's not," she says again.

She pauses and he feels something shift in the air around them. He can tell that Rose is about to share something important.

Something personal.

"It's not just a rumor," Rose says carefully. "Because it's true."

_Because what's true_? Scorpius wants to ask, but he doesn't.

"And now it's all over the _Prophet_," her voice breaks and she chokes back a sob.

"Shhh," Scorpius says again, because he doesn't know what else to say. "It's going to be okay."

"No!" she yells. "It's not _okay_!"

Pause. Swallow.

"I'm recovering from an eating disorder," Rose whispers. "And now everyone knows."

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was the hardest chapter so far for me to write, but in a way it was also the most important. If you need help, reach out to the appropriate resources: a trusted adult, a guidance counselor or psychologist, a help line. You're not alone._

_To avoid any potential confusion: Rose's disorder begins as anorexia nervosa (categorized as significant weight loss due to over-control and restriction of food intake, sometimes, but not always, accompanied by purging behaviors – vomiting, abuse of laxatives, excessive exercise). She shifts into bulimia nervosa (categorized as a loss of control, with binge – overeating – and purge cycles). It is not uncommon for individuals to shift between eating disorders. (Rose is also incorrect; purging does not eliminate all the calories consumed. For this reason, coupled with the huge amount of calories consumed during binges, many individuals with bulimia are not underweight)._

_For more information, check the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) website._

_All the symptoms Rose experiences – exhaustion, shivering, hair loss, "puffy cheeks" (due to salivary glands swelling after repeated vomiting), dizziness, fainting spells, anxiety – are real. More severe symptoms of anorexia and bulimia include tooth decay (again, from repeated vomiting), heart abnormalities, organ failure, and death._

_Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses._


End file.
